Saint Joshua
by FightingKentuckian
Summary: A tragic tale of a dark man. Once the ruthless leader of the Legion's army, the Burned Man turns from his brutal tendencies in hopes of returning to his hometown and his Lord Almighty. He seeks peace and redemption for his past atrocities. (Let's hope Fallout lightning strike twice.)
1. Ashes to Ashes

Whiz! Bullets filled the skies surrounding a man and his army. He quickly ducked behind a concrete barrier, his blue-gray pants collected dust from the ground. He peeked his head over to see the men he commanded, dressed in patchwork pieces of armor, holding their ground on the great concrete structure. Standing up, the leader waved his hand, which clutched a .45 Colt, forwards.

"Move up! Push harder!" his voice was deep and raspy from years of yelling orders. The troops obliged without question. A lull in the gunfire gave the commander a chance to move up the field. As he ran towards the next available cover he heard the sound of water rushing from the side of the dam. Another bullet flew just over his head of finely combed brown hair. The flash of an enemy rifle caught his sight. His lightning quick reaction brought the pistol to aim and fire without a missed beat. The military soldier fell down dead and this caused a smile on the leader's clean-shaved face. Looking around it seemed as if this commander's men would taste victory on this day. The enemy was falling back and soon the dam would fall. They were so close that he could see the Nevada side of Hoover Dam. His soldiers were dispatching the enemy with rifles and swords when they were close enough. Bodies were tossed over the side of the dam into the retention basin. The leader almost set foot on Nevada earth when a bullet caught him in the chest, only the SLCPD SWAT vest stopped it from ending his life. Scurrying behind another barrier before a second bullet found a deadlier mark, the commander was approached by a underling.

"Legate, the Bear has been reinforced by their 1st Recon. Up in the rocks off Boulder City."

"Damn. I thought that Frumentarii said the snipers were still 3 days off?" the Legate commander muttered to himself as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, "Send my Centurion over here." he ordered the legionnarie. The man scurried away to enact the order. The Legate leaned on the barrier and fired off more rounds from his .45. Legionnaries began to fall at an astounding rate and only the far off gleam of a rifle scope could be spotted. Finally, another man occupied the barrier with his Legate. It was his senior most Centurion.

"Lanius. This dam is becoming a killing field." the Legate stated.

"Hmm. Thanks to the ignorance of our leader, the Malpais Legate." came Lanius' gruff reply from under a simple metal mask designed to look as a fierce face. While the Centurion Lanius was the Malpais Legate's senior Centurion, there was little love lost between the two.

"Do not worry Centurion, we are soon to leave this dam. Order up your men for a charge towards Boulder." the Legate ordered his Centurion to rally the army. Standing up, the sun shining off the finely polished armor adorning his chest, Lanius walked away casually. Shouts echoed through the concrete structure and soon the Legion was amassed for a charge. With rifles firing continuously, the army marched towards the NCR held Nevada. It didn't take long for those opposing Caesar's will to pull deep into Boulder City.

"They've retreated, Legate. We have the dam." an anxious recruit exclaimed.

"No." He turned towards the speaker, a fire boiled behind his blue eyes, "We will march in there and make sure the NCR never messes with Caesar's Legion again." They continued to march near Boulder City. The Legate could feel victory tingling in his bones. Breaching the first gate of Boulder City revealed the town was empty. "They must be farther in?" he grumbled aloud. It was only too late that, through his blinding fury, the Malpais Legate noticed the C4 rigged around the whole city.

"NOW!" a hoarse voice ordered from one of the brick building's second floor. Appearing from the windows were NCR troopers laying down a suffocating amount of fire, then the bombs exploded. Rocks, dust, bricks, metal, and men were blasted across the abandon city streets and filled the air. The Legate was knocked to the ground. His ears rang with pain from the blast. A rock on the ground tore the knee out of his pant leg. In the haze of the explosion, the Legate climbed to his feet as many legionaries fell from theirs. Realizing all hope was lost, a retreat was ordered. As the remnants of the Legion trekked back across the dam they were pursued by NCR gunfire. It wasn't long until the concrete underfoot turned to Arizona dirt. They had lost the dam.

The forward camp was a dismal place that night. The Legion was licking it's wounds from the disaster, over half of the army lost to the NCR trap. The Legate was furious of his failure and of how Caesar would react to such news. To make matters worse, the senior Centurion was ushered into the Legate's tent. The commander looked at the tall man, still wearing the mask he never removed for it hid a scarred face.

"What do you want, Lanius?" his question was asked in a disgusted tone. The mountain of a man paced the floor of his commander's tent. The lantern on the desk hauntingly illuminated him as he spoke with a metallic sound in his gruff voice,

"You have failed Caesar in the greatest way possible."

"Do not make a habit of addressing your commanding officer in such tones." The Legate growled. His furrowed brow showed he was tired of his Centurion. Said man stopped his pace and faced his leader.

"You may not be in that position for much longer." Even though his face was hidden, it was easy to tell he was smugging. Malpais had enough of this man, he ran his arms vigorously over his desk; papers fluttered to the ground, the lantern crashed against the floor while other solid objects make a thud.

"Bring the POWs we captured into the main arena." his order was hard, but Lanius lazily left the tent to follow it. The Legate stepped out of his quarters while running a hand through his brown hair. His legionaries had knelt a line of beaten and battered NCR troopers, their hands bound behind them, in the open field that centered his camp. He stood over them as a dark figure. "You didn't fight hard enough for the Great Bear. Now I will show you how a coward dies." he pulled the Colt .45 from it's leather belt holster and grabbed a clip from the loop on his vest. He pulled back the slide, loading the bullet into the chamber. He fired the pistol, sending a bullet through the first man's head. Not even a scream was echoed before he died. The second man's eyes were wide in terror, his face pouring fearful sweat. "Don't be fearful. After the pain I bring you, you'll be safe in Hell." the words were not comforting at all. The bullet was shot into his gut. The man screamed in pain, the Legate simply watched him bleed, a devil's smile on his face. His anger left him like the blood left the trooper. The screams seemed to fall on deaf ears, except the third and final prisoner who watched his friend in horror. While the second man still bled out, the Legion commander raised his pistol to the third man. He put two bullets in this man, one in both shoulders. The trooper fell over on his side, increasing the pain in his shoulder. The Legate stood back and watched for a while as the two men writhed in pain. When his anger felt satisfied and the spectacle of torture bored him he finished off the two men and retreated to his tent where he spent the rest of his night without disturbance.

The morning brought the retribution the Malpais Legate had predicted. A convoy of Praetorian guards made their way into his tent. A sharp kick awoke him from his slumber,

"Caesar requests your audience." this was not cordial invitation, but a stern order. He was marched out of his tent and his camp. The Praetorian council led him across the Arizona desert till the edge of the Grand Canyon came into view. The Legate could see a group of fellow Legionaries gathered at the chasm's edge. As they grew closer on the horizon, he noticed one of them was Caesar himself. The guards that had escorted him across the desert shoved the Malpais Legate up through the crowd of Legion men until he was face to face with the ruler. The older man's face set in determined disappointment, this would not be a social visit among friends.

"Malpais Legate." Caesar said his name in a cold voice. "You failed your Caesar. What do you say to that?" Whatever answer was giving wouldn't change Caesar's verdict, but he decided to tease the Legate with a chance.

"That Frumetarii, Ulysses I think was his name, gave me bad information. The NCR were better prepared than he reported." The Legate replied. He didn't answer the question as if he was begging, but calmly explaining his predicament. Caesar facial expression didn't change.

"Even so, you led your men foolishly into a trap." he crossed his arms with an aloof look on his face, "Failure, no matter what the rank, cannot be tolerated in my Legion." He then shot a look at the guards surrounding the disowned Legate. They raised up their rifles, all trained on the former commander. "Do you remember this place, Legate?" Caesar unfolded his arms to wave them over the landscape. He did remember this place, it had been years since he set foot on this end of the Grand Canyon. "Call me a poetic sorts, but it seems fitting this is where your judgment should be carried out." the men tightened their grips on their rifles. Caesar stepped in towards the Malpais Legate, the Legate could smell the gecko meat from his master's thin lipped mouth. Caesar took the commander's .45 from it's cross draw waist holster, never breaking eye contact. He then stood back and examined the gun as if it were the first time he'd seen it, "It always bugged me you never accepted the traditions I set forth." He was looking at the clean, silver gray slide of the pistol, "a Legate who carries no sword nor wears the armor of a man of such rank." alluding to the Legate's plain clothes and SWAT vest. The man on trial simply curled his lip, holding back a remark. Finished with examining the gun, Caesar turned towards the grand basin and tossed the pistol down into it. They all could hear the crash of metal against stone until if faded as the gun fell deeper. "You know, I don't believe you ever cared much for the Legion's greater good. Yes, you served her well, but you did it only to satiate your blood lust." Caesar took a deep breath and faced the Legate again, "Strip your clothes off." The Malpais Legate didn't move for a moment, taking in the scene first. Then, in front of the watchful eyes of a dozen rifle barrels he began to slowly remove his vest, then the light blue shirt underneath it. Soon only his boxers remained on him. "Throw those rags down with that accursed pistol." Caesar ordered and the Legate threw his shirt and pants down into the canyon, not speaking a word. Caesar waved his hands towards the crowd of men. A few men weaseled there way from the crowd carrying 5 gallon cans. They looked at Caesar, he nodded for them to proceed. They approached the Legate. He tensed up a little as they approached, causing them to proceed carefully. The cans contained black pitch which they spread all over his body. It felt cold and creamy against his body, but he stood tall and speechless, realizing this may be his last moments on Earth. They covered his chest, legs, and his head, even covering his steel blue eyes and strong chin. "Stand towards the canyon, Legate." He obeyed Caesar's order and looked over the edge of the rocky formation. The bottom of the Grand Canyon could barely be seen, the rocks on the way down were brightly colored with different stripes denoting ages. He stood there, the pitch started to feel suffocating on his skin. Caesar brought another man out of the crowd, it was Malpais Legate's senior officer. "Do the honors, Lanius." he handed a flaming 2x4 to the Centurion. Lanius happily obliged. He stood behind his former leader.

"The Legion will have a more worthy Legate at it's helm." His metallic voice whispered into the commander's ear. Taking a step back, Lanius touched the flaming board to the man's pitch covered body. The viscous sludge quickly took the flame and spread across all the Legate's body. He couldn't help but scream as the fire licked away at his flesh. Lanius then kicked the Legate on the rear, sending him tumbling down the side of the Grand Canyon. As he fell, the Legate felt the rocks and stones cut into him amongst the flames that still burnt deep to his bone. It felt like he would fall endlessly down the canyon side, but finally he hit the bottom. The bruising pain of the rocks stopped, but the searing pain of the fire continued. He laid in the chasm's bottom, waiting for the bright fire to bring eternal darkness. Through the pain, events of his past flashed past his eyes.


	2. Several Small Stumbles Lead

There was a time when the Malpais Legate answered to a different name. In this past life he was known to friends and strangers as Joshua Graham. A young man, his face still genial and fresh, had left New Canaan for his tour as a missionary and tribal translator. Post apocalyptic winds rustled through the Grand Canyon as Joshua stood with two other men. They were fellow missionaries from the Followers of the Apocalypse. This was the first time they met.

"This is beautiful country." Joshua remarked in a homey voice as he stared towards the stone red vastness of the Grand Canyon. He stood with his hands on his hips at a spot he would tumble down later.

"Yeah. Almost makes you forget the world is a living Hell." one of the Followers replied. He was an older man, hints of gray lined his brown hair. The man rubbed his nose which sat above a brown mustache. The third man spoke up in a cool voice,

"The Followers are doing what they can to bring understanding to the wastelanders, but I think order is more appropriate to bring us from that Hell." The three men stood in silence for a moment as they absorbed more of the natural beauty.

"I didn't catch your names." The Mormon asked.

"Bill Calhoun." the mustached man replied.

"Ed Swallow." came the third man, his face of regal appearance. They shook hands and started a trek to spread their works to the tribes of the Canyon.

Several months passed as the three men worked together in the heart of the Grand Canyon. They'd spent the last few weeks with the Blackfoot tribe who were losing a war against seven other tribes. Graham was preparing his travel pack to leave. He was sharing a tent with a nine man expedition, they picked up more Followers as they climbed down the canyon. Pulling back the flap, Joshua was back among the open camp littered with tents and campfires that served the Blackfoot. Bill Calhoun was among some tribals eating around a fire pit. He got up with a huff,

"Hey, Mormon. You better talk to the chieftain." his deep voice was concerned, "I don't know what he's muttering, but it don't sound good." Joshua thanked the man and went to the see the Blackfoot chief.

"Chieftain." he grabbed the tribe's leader's attention, the man turned, feathers wafted on top a decorative headdress. Closing the distance between them, Joshua began to speak in the native tongue.

"Ung boku tuk?" he asked about what the chief told Calhoun. The chief crossed his arms over his wide chest before replying,

"Ho lung dite um bolo tuku joi um lope boon dist fute." the words were smug. Joshua Graham was tasked with being the tribal translator but even his dialect was patchy at times. He must have heard something wrong, but now he learned clearly. The Blackfoot chief wasn't allowing the nine man party to leave, not until the seven tribes were dealt with.

"Jeu dim ung dol ouk." the missionary excused himself and quickly called a meeting with his party at their tent. With both Calhoun and Swallow in attendance, Graham started. "We can't leave. Not without the whole tribe chasing after us." the tone was not light hearted. Everyone scratched the back of their necks and looked around at each other.

"Can't we just sneak out of here for they catch wind of it?" Calhoun suggested, "They're too busy losing their war, we just slip out at the right time."

"They want us to help them win this war." Joshua added onto the bad news.

"The Followers are not an army for hire. We must spread unity through the wastes." one of the expeditionary men spoke out. Edward then stood in the center of the conversation.

"Look where that philosophy has gotten us. " he stared at the small party, "We try to avoid conflict, use our resources to simply translate and record the history that is around us." he looked towards Graham, "Our anthropological efforts have failed." back to the whole group, "These tribals need order, they have no real skill in military combat." he paced around the circle, "I've read books from the Roman Empire. Books by men like Julius Caesar. You give me time and I will bring this tribe from uncultured filth to some semblance of civilization."

"I will not be a part of this." Calhoun voiced his disapproval. Swallow looked at him with a stern gaze.

"These dogs will not let us leave nor will I let them drag me down. I must teach them how to fight and conquer or we shall never leave this canyon alive." Most would say that with hesitation, but Swallow looked forward to the chance. He left the tent, not worrying if anyone followed him out. If push came to shove he would squish his former friends under his boot. Joshua had decided to follow the determined man. Swallow and Graham stood in the camp. "Good to have you at my side. Now translate this." he told Graham then turned to yell, "I will show you total warfare!"

After weeks of training and months of waging war, Ed Swallow had led the Blackfoot to brutal victory over the seven tribes that once threatened their very survival. Through the time, Swallow amassed a well oiled army under his command. But he had since stopped being referred to be his birth name, instead using the moniker of Caesar. His army was no longer savage tribals but a uniformed force decked in Roman red. In his command tent nestled in a chasm of the Grand Canyon, he sat with his two 'friends', Joshua Graham and Bill Calhoun. "Bill, you have not agreed with my methods, but stayed by me until we left this infernal canyon." Bill was not happy with Caesar's praise, his mustache curled in contempt, "I will not keep you in my service any longer. You may leave the camp at your choosing." this was a threat veiled as a pleasantry. If Bill stayed he would be killed like the others in the expedition party, "I only ask that you return to the Followers and tell them of what you've seen; of the my power, of what my Legion has accomplished."

"You're a monster, Swallow. I hope to see the day a bullet goes through that big head of yours." Calhoun grumbled as he shuffled from the tent.

"It is Caesar now. And remember Bill," the man stopped and listened, "I did what was requested of me. I spread my knowledge through the wastes. I taught these savages how to divide and conquer. There's a lot to learn from old books, friend." Caesar boasted and Bill left with no more remarks. "Now then, Joshua Graham." he turned to his right hand man, "It's been a journey for you since your missionary days. You may not be a good Mormon anymore, but you've more than proved your worth as a translator & commander. If you wish to stay I ask you to take the noble rank of Legate." Joshua thumped a fist against his chest in salute.

"Yes, my liege." Caesar smiled at his willingness and gave the man a hug.

"Good, good. From now on you shall be my Malpais Legate. Now, go lead my Legion out of this canyon."


End file.
